


white

by zhujungjungting (runswithchopsticks)



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Bottom!Jihoon, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Hair-pulling, Halloween, Light Bondage, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Woojin is the best friend everyone needs, mentioned Daehwi/Jinyoung, mentioned Woojin/Hyeongseop, somehow Jihoon ended up being something like Seongwoo's trophy/housewife lol, this is kind of crack-ish, top!seongwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 21:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12566956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runswithchopsticks/pseuds/zhujungjungting
Summary: “Okay,” Woojin begins, “on a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to be sexualized?"Where Jihoon isn't going to Minhyun's Halloween party, but he still needs a costume.





	white

**Author's Note:**

> Sup! Happy Halloween, lovelies! Since I can't personally mail everyone candy, this is my treat for you all. :* Hope you enjoy the read.
> 
> Uhm, for those people wondering why in the world all the Ongwink in my works list is porn... yeah, I can explain. I _did_ write them outside of the bedroom, it's just for an upcoming fic fest (that hasn't been revealed yet, obviously)... so, uh, just wait for that I suppose.

_start._

* * *

“So… what are you going to be for Halloween?”

“Hyeongseop and I were thinking that he would be a slutty cat and I could be a slutty mouse,” Woojin replies, nonchalantly, as he scrolls through Instagram on his phone.

“What the actual fuck?” Jihoon blurts out. He puts his palms on the top of the sofa Woojin sits on. “You’re not being serious, are you?”

Woojin simply raises his eyebrows as he continues to scroll. He taps something on his phone screen, and a moment later when the webpage loads, he lifts the device and shows Jihoon. At the top left corner is a little logo with “Yandy” and a heart drawn next to it, and Jihoon nearly chokes as he sees the rest of the page.

“Think I’d look good in this?” Woojin asks casually.

“Uh,” Jihoon begins. He clears his throat, pounding on his chest with a fist. “Uhm, how’s your dick going to fare? I mean, that leotard thing is really… high…” He squirms. “I’m already getting a wedgie from looking at it. And won’t you have to shave too?”

Woojin glances at him, frowning.

“U-Uh--” Jihoon stutters, “unless hair is totally Hyeongseop’s thing, you know, I don’t judge, you guys can have as much fun as you--”

Woojin breaks out in raucous laughter, throwing himself to the side. He nearly slips off of the armrest, and he drops his phone on the carpet. Jihoon scowls at him when the thing lands with a _thud_ on the carpet. “Christ, Jihoon, I was just joking--” Woojin begins, but his voice is broken when he snorts from his laughter.

“You fucker!” Jihoon cries, and he punches Woojin in the shoulder. “I’m going to have nightmares for days now imagining whatever shenanigans you and Hyeongseop like to get up to!”

Woojin immediately punches him back, and Jihoon admits that it actually hurt; but for the sake of his ego, he covers his wincing with peals of uncomfortable laughter.

“We’re nothing compared to you and Seongwoo-hyung! I’m so glad you finally moved in with him so I don’t have to hear whatever the hell is going with you two over the webcam because the walls--” Woojin begins, but this time Jihoon slaps him on the nose.

“Excuse me, but at least I didn’t bring Seongwoo-hyung over and have sex on _your_ bed!” Jihoon retorts, and Woojin immediately gasps.

“How the hell did you know?”

Jihoon feels like crying. He slides his palms onto his face and sinks down to the floor. Woojin watches his head disappear over the edge of the couch. A few seconds later, when Woojin hears the beginnings of sobs, he immediately panics and clamors over the edge of the couch, nearly falling on top of Jihoon as he lands. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, you know, we both had a little too much to drink--”

“Yeah, you fucker, you’d better be sorry!” Jihoon growls, taking his hands off of his face. He sighs the moment after. “At least I no longer live here.”

Woojin scowls. This bastard, he’d been fake-crying and sent Woojin into a panic. He opens his mouth to berate Jihoon-- _nobody_ makes Park Woojin panic for absolutely no reason--but Jihoon just pushes his friend’s irritated face away with a palm.

“Well, whatever,” Jihoon mutters, scoffing. “Have you decided on a costume yet?”

Woojin crosses his arms. He briefly debates whether or not he should still punch Jihoon, but the thought quickly passes as a smile appears on his face. “Yeah, I have, actually,” he replies.

“Oh, what’re you going to be?” Jihoon asks.

“Guess,” Woojin says, and a wide grin appears on his face. “Here’s a hint: Hyeongseop and I are going to be the hip hop industry’s most iconic couple.”

“Gray and Tiffany?” Jihoon immediately replies, scrunching his nose. “Wait, who’s going to be Gray and who’s going to be Tiffany?”

“What the fuck, mate,” Woojin deadpans, “they aren’t even dating, and I said _hip hop_ \--”

“Okay, good,” Jihoon breathes, putting a hand over his heart, “because I just imagined you in a white cropped t-shirt and high-waisted jeans dancing to Gee, and the image is so fucking ugly in my head, I don’t think I’d be able to handle it in real life.”

Woojin rolls his eyes, flicking his friend on the forehead. “Guess again, Jihoon.”

Jihoon scrunches his nose. “I don’t know,” he says, after a moment.

“Here’s another hint,” Woojin begins, “I’m going to wear a blue turtleneck and Hyeongseop is going to wear a black bomber and golden hoops--”

“ _What_ \--” Jihoon interrupts, “-- _golden hoops_? I’m hoping that’s a new model of sneaker I’m not aware about, and not _earrings_.”

Woojin shakes his head. “No, I mean the earrings,” he says, his face as serious as ever, and Jihoon’s insides are shriveling up and disintegrating at the image that appears in his head. “So, any guesses?” Woojin asks.

“What the absolute fuck, _no_ ,” Jihoon says, and he looks like he’s about to throw up.

“Oh, come on, it’s easy!” Woojin exclaims, and he grins. “Come on, which female in the hip hop industry wears lots of bombers and hoop earrings, and which male wears lots of turtlenecks?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Jihoon replies.

Woojin just sighs, rolling his eyes. This noob. “[Jessi and Zico](https://twitter.com/ultqiri/status/922146230507012097) of course, you idiot!”

Jihoon isn’t sure how to react, so he ends up snorting and laughing and coughing all at once, and so therefore he is now choking, and Woojin is pounding on his back with a fist, which doesn’t help at fucking all. “Hyeongseop i-is going to be _Jessi_?” he hisses through his breath.

“It was his idea, don’t blame me,” Woojin replies nonchalantly. “Anyways, why’d you ask?”

“I-I need help finding a costume,” Jihoon mutters, and he sniffs, wiping away the tears from his eyes because he coughed so hard his throat now hurts. “Come shopping with me.”

  
“Oh yeah, of course!” Woojin immediately replies, shooting his friend a thumbs-up, “I still need to buy my blazer and the patches and wig for Hyeongseop.”

Jihoon gags.

* * *

“So, what’re you looking for?” Woojin asks, humming as he flips through the hangers on the rack. “Oh yeah, you’re going to Minhyun’s party, aren’t you?”

Jihoon shakes his head. “No,” he replies, “I’m staying home.”

“Then why the hell would you need a c--” Woojin begins, but then the realization dawns on him. “Oh my god--”

Jihoon narrows his eyes. “I don’t judge whatever you and Hyeongseop get up to, so don’t judge whatever S--”

Woojin holds up his hands, biting his tongue. “Nope, no judgement here,” he says, but his eyebrows are still raised. He turns around on his heels, tucking his hands behind his back and stalking off to a different rack. Jihoon follows him, his steps uncertain.

“So,” Woojin begins, dragging out the “so”. He pulls a costume off of the rack.

“Just who do you take me for?!” Jihoon exclaims, eyeing the piece of sheer cloth up and down -- well, mostly sheer, except for solid bits that covers the, ahem, vital regions.

“I don’t fucking know!” Woojin replies, “I don’t know what kind of kinky mess your sex life is! And besides, you’re asking _me_ of all people to basically help you pick out _lingerie_.”

“You could at least help me find something that looks like an actual _costume_ ,” Jihoon mutters pointedly, side-eyeing his friend.

“Okay,” Woojin begins, putting back the costume, “on a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to be sexualized? Oh, and what’s your budget?”

Jihoon shrugs. “Eight, I guess? Seongwoo-hyung likes it when I look--”

Woojin chokes. “Do not--” he begins, and promptly coughs. Jihoon smirks. “God, just tell me how much your budget is, please?”

“Whatever,” Jihoon murmurs, waving his hand. “I’m using Seongwoo-hyung’s credit card, anyways.”

“Fuck, I hate you,” Woojin mutters under his breath as he begins to flip through hangers on the rack. “Hyeongseop is a poor little shit. I should’ve just signed myself up for Seeking Arrangement with you when I was still single. By the way, is your subscription still active?”

“No,” Jihoon replies, and he looks at Woojin exasperatedly. “I’ve been dating Seongwoo-hyung for like, three years, why the hell would it still be active?”

Woojin just raises his eyebrows and turns away. “I don’t know, I thought that maybe you guys would like other additions in your rainbow--” he raises his hand, drawing an arc in the air above his head while staring up at the ceiling as if he were staring at god, “--of lovely and kinky experiences.”

Jihoon huffs and promptly stomps on Woojin’s toes. He smiles when Woojin yelps, hopping up and down while holding his foot.

* * *

When Seongwoo returns home the next Monday evening, he hums as he loosens his tie, approaching the front steps of his home. He’d managed to escape work early that day by dumping more paperwork than he usually did on his PA, Daniel -- without giving him overtime pay, of course.

He makes it to his front door, but before he even takes out his keys, the door opens. “Hi!” Jihoon greets. Probably saw Seongwoo from the security system monitors -- there’s a camera right next to the door.

Seongwoo immediately smiles, about to reply with a charming, “Hi, honey, I’m home,” but instead, he nearly chokes and ends up coughing.

“Aw, hyung,” Jihoon begins, and he instantly steps out, wrapping an arm around Seongwoo’s shoulders while his other palm rubs his back, “are you okay? I thought you were fully recovered from that last bout of bronchitis -- if you’re not, you should stay home and not overwork yourself--”

“N-No, I’m fine,” Seongwoo rasps out, and he quickly places a hand on Jihoon’s chest, pushing him backwards and into their home. The neighbors had better not see this -- they live in a nice community, and Seongwoo is respected. Seongwoo mentally prays that none of their cameras are that new pan-tilt-zoom technology shit that’s able to catch whatever the hell is happening on his front porch.

Once they’ve both stepped into the safety of the foyer, Seongwoo hastily closes the door behind him. He sets down his briefcase.

“Are you sure? Jihoon asks, leaning slightly on his toes to put his hands on Seongwoo’s cheeks. He stares up at his boyfriend, eyes wide with concern. “Your face isn’t burning, but do you want me to go brew medicine just in case?”

“Jihoon,” Seongwoo begins, and he crosses his arms, “I’m fine, but are you?”

“What?” Jihoon frowns. He blinks up at Seongwoo, clearly confused.

“What in the world are you wearing?” Seongwoo asks. He glances behind Jihoon’s head, and he realizes that oh shit -- the windows are wide open, and he hastily clamors over to draw the curtains. While he madly sprint-walks, he nearly slips on the corridor floors -- nice Italian leather dress shoes were most definitely not made for walking on waxed wood floors, and Jihoon is giggling stupidly behind his back, trailing behind him.

“Why are you closing the curtains? Now it’s all dark,” Jihoon complains, and Seongwoo rolls his eyes. When he turns around, he resumes his position with his arms crossed.

“What in the world are you wearing?” he asks, again.

“What?” Jihoon replies, nonchalantly. “It’s Halloween today, isn’t it?”

Seongwoo frowns. “If you’ve changed your mind and you want to go to Minhyun’s party after all, uh… are you sure that’s a costume you’d like to wear?”

Jihoon looks himself up and down, as if contemplating Seongwoo’s words.

Seongwoo gulps heavily. Bad idea, because he needs as much saliva as he can possibly get in his mouth at the moment. He eyes Jihoon hesitantly, his gaze wavering dubiously at Jihoon’s head before he forces himself to look lower.

His boyfriend’s got one of those white dress shirts on. It fits him neatly, the cuffs just reaching a few centimeters past his palms, the collar starched and cleanly folded. He’s wearing a tie, too -- it’s a pretty solid crimson red. Yes, okay, everything looks normal so far (well, Jihoon wearing nice things when he’s just home alone isn’t normal, but at least his clothing is “normal”)  -- Seongwoo mildly hopes he was hallucinating when he first saw Jihoon, but there’s obviously another part of him that prays that he wasn’t.

His eyes float farther downward, and he sucks in a breath. Oh hell fucking _~~yeah~~  _ _no_ , he wasn’t hallucinating.

The bottoms of Jihoon’s dress shirt are tucked into a red plaid skirt, and Seongwoo feels his face contort into a bunch of expressions when the realization hits him. His gaze moves down once again, and oh, there’re the ruffles of the plaid cloth, and he squints -- is it just him, or is the length of the skirt a little...short? It appears that it doesn't even reach Jihoon's mid-thigh.

Even farther down, and Seongwoo sees a white suspension of ribbon peeking out from the bottom of the skirt, and it travels down just several centimeters until it connects to-- _oh god_ , Seongwoo thinks--until it connects to the edge of white mesh stockings that wrap around Jihoon’s legs.

Yes, sure, Jihoon owns his fair share of lingerie because he buys whatever the hell he wants on the internet, and somehow that equated to him accumulating his own little wardrobe of pretty silk and lace things, but Seongwoo has never seen him wear anything like that in combination with a… skirt. A _very short_ skirt.

Seongwoo is now aware that his face might be blue, because when he finally takes a breath and tears his eyes away, he feels like he’s been resuscitated from a coma.

Jihoon is staring at him with his arms crossed. “I’m still staying home,” he says. “But it’s Halloween. I don’t have to go to a party to dress up, now do I?”

“N-No, of course not,” Seongwoo hastily replies. “Uh, let me… go put.. my things away. What do you want for dinner?”

“Sushi,” Jihoon simply replies. He turns on his heel, his arms still crossed, and stalks away. The skirt swishes as he moves, and Seongwoo is now back to another fit of choking and coughing.

Oh _hell_ , the skirt _is_ short. He can see the very bottoms of Jihoon’s ass hanging out when he walks.

* * *

“So,” Jihoon begins, flouncing into Seongwoo’s home office later that evening, “how was your day at work?”

Seongwoo takes a deep breath, and he crosses his legs and leans his temple on a fist, hoping his stance looks as casual as possible. “Alright,” he replies, “Sooyoung brought candy to the office. Daniel and his fat ass ended up eating it all, and then Jisung later tried to get me to fire him for eating all the candy. But if I did, who else would do all my paperwork for me without extra pay and not tattle to the Ministry of Labor?”

Jihoon giggles. He walks over and raises a leg, half-sitting on the edge of Seongwoo’s desk. Seongwoo glances down at Jihoon’s thigh, because the skirt rides up enough that he can see the softness of Jihoon’s skin from underneath the cloth. “How was your day?” he asks, shakily.

“Quite good,” Jihoon hums casually. “I went to the mall with Jinyoung, Daehwi, and Guanlin. Hasting’s was having a sale, so I picked up some books for us. Want to see? I put them on your bookcase.”

“Sure,” Seongwoo replies. He watches Jihoon slide off of his desk and saunter over to the bookcase in the corner. His eyes automatically fall to the wiggle of the skirt as Jihoon walks, watching the two curved shadows where his ass cheeks begin shift with movement. Seongwoo raises an eyebrow, an index finger tapping on the side of his cheek as he watches.

And then, much to Seongwoo’s shock, Jihoon bends over. “Hmm,” he begins, his fingers moving across the spines of the books on the lowest shelf, “I put them somewhere here. Give me a moment.”

 _Shit_ , Seongwoo thinks, and he feels his dick say hello to him in his pants.

Jihoon didn’t even bother to crouch down, he just _bent_ his upper body, and now his skirt has ridden all the way up until the edges of the ruffles just barely reach the tops of his rear, completely exposing his ass -- and Seongwoo is now about to go into cardiac arrest, because Jihoon is wearing a pair of _white lace panties_ under his whole get-up.

Jihoon hears the subtle garbled noise Seongwoo makes, and he smiles. The band of the underwear is a little thin, and he feels it fold in between his ass cheeks as he shifts position. He arches his back when he stands up, tantalizingly slow, two books in his hands.

Seongwoo watches Jihoon return to him, his steps small and shy. Jihoon runs the tip of an index finger over the cover of a book before sliding it onto Seongwoo's desk. He simultaneously glides his body forward as he does so, palms placed on the cover of the top book, back arched.

Seongwoo sees Jihoon tilt his head slightly downward and blink up at him through the flutter of his lashes. There's that _other_ side of Seongwoo's charming businessman self that is awakening at the sight of not only Jihoon dressed in such an enticing way, but also because of the way Jihoon's actions and words have suddenly fallen softer and meeker.

“Here, hyung,” Jihoon says, and his voice has an airier, almost shy quality to it.

Seongwoo moves his other hand and receives the books. “Thank you,” he replies, tapping two fingers on the hardcovers. “Jihoon,” he begins, and Jihoon glances up at him, his eyes fluttering.

“Yes, hyung?” he murmurs.

“Come here,” Seongwoo says. Jihoon walks around the perimeter of Seongwoo's desk and Seongwoo swivels his chair to face him. “On daddy's lap,” he orders, and Jihoon immediately obeys, climbing onto Seongwoo's thighs, folding his legs so his knees and shins rest on the black leather of the chair. His hands ball into fists and rest together atop the plaid ruffling of his skirt.

“Baby,” Seongwoo begins, his voice falling a notch in pitch. He places his palms on Jihoon's knees and begins to run them up his thighs, making sure to apply pressure with his hands, only stopping when the tips of his fingers just disappear under the edge of Jihoon's skirt. He feels goosebumps rise on Jihoon's bare skin, and he smiles. “Baby, did you buy this today?” He rubs the plaid cloth between an index finger and thumb.

Jihoon shakes his head. “No, daddy,” he replies, meekly.

“Hmm,” Seongwoo hums, continuing to finger the edge of Jihoon's skirt, “tell me, baby, why did you buy this? Daddy doesn't remember telling you to buy it.”

“Jihoon wanted to dress up,” Jihoon responds. The curve of his lips move only slightly when he speaks, and Seongwoo notices himself admiring their shape, imagining pushing his fingers through that plush pink skin and watching Jihoon gag, saliva bubbling from the corners of his mouth and tears springing from his eyes. “Does daddy like Jihoon's costume?”

“Yes, daddy does,” Seongwoo replies, and the smile on his face grows wider. He begins to rub his palms up and down Jihoon's thighs at an achingly slow pace, pausing once to pull at the elastic at the top of one of Jihoon's stockings and smiling slyly when the cloth snaps back against skin with a soft smack.

“Does daddy think the costume is pretty?” Jihoon asks.

“Yes, daddy thinks it's very pretty,” Seongwoo says. “Daddy thinks Jihoon looks beautiful in it.”

At Seongwoo's words, a delicate smattering of pink appears across Jihoon's cheeks. His gaze lowers, avoiding eye contact with Seongwoo. “Thank you, daddy,” he murmurs.

“My baby will always be beautiful in daddy's eyes,” Seongwoo states as he reaches up a hand, wrapping a palm around Jihoon's nape. Without another word, he pulls Jihoon in, pressing their lips firmly together. He tangles his fingers in the hairs at the back of Jihoon’s head while nipping his bottom lip, pulling with his teeth. Seongwoo feels the slightest of smiles and the subtlest of whines from Jihoon’s lips, which only encourages his advances, and without a single moment of hesitation, his tongue slips into Jihoon’s mouth easily.

Jihoon’s eager, and there’s the quiet sound of wet kisses in the air. His lips are extremely moist, Seongwoo thinks he may even be drooling, but he doesn’t think it’s disgusting. Rather, he pulls his lips from Jihoon’s and focuses on tonguing the skin at the corner of his mouth and his chin, because Jihoon’s taste is sweet, a little bit sour, probably as a result of the candy he’d been sucking on earlier (it’s some kind of candy from America that Daehwi brought back from his visit to his family -- Seongwoo will have to look into it, so he can order some and place it around the house for both his and Jihoon’s pleasure).

Jihoon lets a soft whine slip from his lips as Seongwoo works his way across the bottom of his jaw, nipping harshly into the thin skin before grazing his lips and tongue gently over the mark he’d just created, almost as if he were apologizing for nearly drawing blood.

But as he moves down the smooth plane of Jihoon’s neck, his bites become harsher, almost as if he were digging his teeth in, and Jihoon makes garbled noises above him, digging his fingers brutally into Seongwoo’s shoulders. He lifts his head up, craning his neck, exposing the even more sensitive skin right at the front of his throat. “Daddy,” Jihoon whispers, when Seongwoo presses his teeth into the lump of Jihoon’s Adam’s apple.

“Hmm?” Seongwoo hums, having felt the vibrations from Jihoon’s voice. “Louder, baby.”

“Daddy,” Jihoon says again, this time his voice much more clear, “there--”

And Seongwoo grazes his teeth over the lump as it bobs up and down with Jihoon’s gulping, smiling at the erratic hitches of breath his hears from his baby.

He leans back, his palms sitting in the concaves right above Jihoon’s hips, thumbs pressing circles into warm skin. He feels the slight arching of Jihoon’s back in his hands, and he smiles. “Baby, unbutton your shirt for daddy,” he orders.

Jihoon looks slightly flustered at the command, his eyes downturned, the smattering of scarlet climbing over his nose and underneath his eyes as he nods shyly, slim fingers reaching up to his collar. His hands shake just slightly as he undoes the first button of his shirt.

Seongwoo leans back in his chair and watches him, a calculating smile on his face. He would normally tell Jihoon to hurry up, but instead, he’s basking in how pretty his baby looks as he undresses himself and that delicate expanse of skin is revealed slowly, starting with the jutting of his collarbones and working its way down to the ridges of his chest and the smoothness of his belly, the pink on his face and neck simultaneously crawling its way down too. Seongwoo’s arousal is obviously apparent at this point, and so is Jihoon’s -- he shifts in Seongwoo’s lap, rubbing his crotch slightly against Seongwoo’s abdomen, and he softly whines.

“Good boy,” Seongwoo praises, when Jihoon places his hands back in his lap after having finished unbuttoning his shirt. Seongwoo tugs at the white cloth, pulling each side at the button seams, exposing Jihoon’s chest further to the air. His nipples are a lighter pink than the rest of his skin, and Seongwoo can’t help but wet his lips.

“Baby, look at me,” Seongwoo says, and Jihoon lifts his head to look Seongwoo in the eyes, his eyelashes fluttering as he does so. His eyes are a little bit glassy and shiny, and he blinks slowly, as if drugged by Seongwoo’s touches.

“So pretty, my baby,” Seongwoo murmurs, placing his palms on Jihoon’s temples and brushing back the hair from his eyes and forehead.

“Thank you, daddy,” Jihoon replies, his fists tightening into the plaid cloth of his skirt.

Seongwoo releases his hands from Jihoon’s face, instead choosing to slide them onto the side of Jihoon’s thighs. His smile grows wider when he hears Jihoon’s breath hitch. He glides his palms along Jihoon’s skin, touching feathery-light and barely there, hands moving underneath the cloth of Jihoon’s skirt before coming to rest on his ass cheeks.

Jihoon willingly presses into him, his back arching, as Seongwoo dips his head and sucks a nipple between his teeth. Jihoon lets out a moan from above him as he licks around the bud, grazing with his teeth and feeling it harden underneath his lips. He kisses a trail across Jihoon’s chest, painting the pink with pretty little mottles of scarlet, before taking the other nipple into his mouth.

And when Seongwoo presses his lips to the center of Jihoon’s chest, kissing against the rise and fall of the labored and heavy breaths of the boy beneath his grip, he slides a hand up to the top of Jihoon’s ass, feeling the lace of his panties beneath his fingertips, and places his middle finger right above Jihoon’s crack.

Jihoon sucks in a breath, the moan he lets out being cut off midway as Seongwoo slides his finger down slowly, applying pressure. Jihoon arches even more into him, lifting his ass up, and his hips begin to jerk around from the stimulation from both Seongwoo’s finger moving slowly down his crack and the friction from his grinding against Seongwoo’s body. “Daddy, daddy!” he cries out, his chin resting on Seongwoo’s shoulder as his fingers reach around Seongwoo’s neck and grasp at his skin.

Seongwoo smiles. “Daddy is here, baby,” he whispers in Jihoon’s ear, planting a kiss on his helix just as he slides his finger all the way down to Jihoon’s perineum, the boy having arched his back and leaned forward enough for Seongwoo to reach all the way there.

Jihoon lets out a needy moan at the touch, his hips moving even more erratically, and Seongwoo places a firm hand on one of his hips. “Stop moving so much, baby,” he orders, gripping his fingers into Jihoon’s skin, and Jihoon lets out a whimper as he obeys, shaking slightly from being unable to chase his own stimulation.

“Good boy,” Seongwoo coos, as he begins to rub his finger up and down Jihoon’s crack, from where it starts all the way down to his perineum, applying just as much pressure as before. Jihoon groans into the side of his neck, one of his palms pulsing hotly as it presses into the other side of Seongwoo’s neck, his fingers twitching with effort to keep himself still.

Seongwoo dips his finger just slightly into the white lace, right over where Jihoon’s hole is, and Jihoon makes such a pretty sound at the sensation, something between a whimper and a cry. “Daddy, there,” he whines, and his hips begin to rut back onto Seongwoo’s finger.

Seongwoo’s lips curl into a shrewd smile. He runs the tip of his finger, achingly slow, encircling Jihoon’s rim, and Jihoon whimpers at the barely-there contact, the slightly rough feeling of lace rubbing against one of his most sensitive parts causing his hands to scrabble down Seongwoo’s back, grasping at Seongwoo’s dress shirt and rumpling the cloth underneath his grip. His ass jerks around, trying to press up into Seongwoo’s touch, but Seongwoo stills him by digging his fingers into his hip.

“What did I say, baby?” Seongwoo reminds, “Be still.”

Jihoon makes a vaguely garbled noise, burying his mouth into Seongwoo’s shoulder. Seongwoo feels the cloth at that area dampen with Jihoon’s panting and the saliva that falls from his lips.

He continues rubbing up and down with his finger, alternating pressures and sometimes dipping into or encircling Jihoon’s rim, quite enjoying the desperate mewling noises Jihoon makes. Seongwoo imagines that if he could see Jihoon’s face at the moment, it’d be quite a sight -- his boyfriend’s face would probably be entirely pink now, his eyes hooded and darkened with lust, his lips and his jaw trembling with desperation and agitation. Seongwoo would love to push Jihoon away from him, admire the pretty blooming of scarlet all over his face, neck, and chest, rub the purple marks on that soft skin made with teeth and tongue, and watch as Jihoon tries to arch even further into his touch, his gaze downcast, eyes glassy, chest bare, and nipples pert and pink from Seongwoo’s tongue and the bending in his back that pushes out his chest.

But for now, Seongwoo takes immense pleasure in the little noises Jihoon makes, the twitching of his thighs at every single movement of Seongwoo’s finger, and the erratic curling and uncurling of his toes.

Without any warning, Seongwoo slides his middle finger underneath the white lace and pushes knuckle-deep into Jihoon’s entrance with one swift movement. Jihoon gasps in his grip, the sound high and loud, and he erratically shifts his hips from the sensation, unintentionally rubbing his erection against Seongwoo’s torso. “Ah, daddy!” he cries, digging his fingers into Seongwoo’s back. His hips push back slightly against Seongwoo’s finger, knees shaking violently as he tries to restrain himself.

Seongwoo simply smiles and says, “Your voice is so pretty, baby,” as he slips his index finger underneath the lace as well, pressing it gently against Jihoon’s rim.

“Yes, daddy, please,” Jihoon whines, shivering slightly at the sensation of a second finger there, and Seongwoo pushes his index finger in. Jihoon is terribly warm and tight around two of his fingers, even though Seongwoo fucks him pretty thoroughly on a regular basis. But he enjoys the fact that Jihoon is always tight for him, because he takes pleasure in opening Jihoon up slowly, watching his baby try and hold on to the last bit of his self-control while Seongwoo has the reins and drives him wherever he himself pleases.

With the addition of a third finger, Seongwoo finally begins to move, daintily stroking the silkiness of Jihoon’s walls with his fingertips. Jihoon whines, high and needy at the sensation, his crotch jerking in tiny erratic movements, a combination of his attempt at controlling himself, automatically rutting back against Seongwoo’s fingers and trying to press them further into himself, and seeking more of that friction for his cock.

Seongwoo purposely avoids Jihoon’s prostate, choosing to only skirt his fingertips over Jihoon’s walls, and Jihoon’s fingers are gripping and ungripping themselves onto Seongwoo’s shirt. “Oh, daddy, _please_ \--” he whimpers when he tries to shift and press Seongwoo’s fingers to where he knows his sweet spot is, but Seongwoo digs his fingernails into Jihoon’s hip again.

“Be patient, baby,” Seongwoo reminds, a sly smile in his voice, “you don’t want to make this take longer, do you, baby?”

“N-No, daddy,” Jihoon stutters, his voice trembling, and Seongwoo’s smile grows wider. “Good boy,” he praises, slipping in a fourth finger, and Jihoon keens at the sensation, because four is painful, but he can’t help but begin to feel that _fullness_ \-- just the beginning, and he wants nothing more but to push himself back on Seongwoo’s fingers and ram them deeper into himself.

But he doesn’t need to wait any longer, because Seongwoo grazes his fingertips right over his prostate -- just a graze, contact feathery light and almost ticklish, and Jihoon lets out a high-pitched and whiny moan, his thighs trembling. “Daddy, there,” he whimpers, pressing his lips into Seongwoo’s ear, and Seongwoo turns his head, meeting Jihoon’s lips with his own as he digs all four of his fingerpads onto Jihoon’s prostate.

“Daddy!” Jihoon cries out, and he chokes as the last shred of his self-control dissipates, the sensation from Seongwoo’s fingers so tempting, the slow, pressured stroking wracking vibrations throughout his body.

But Seongwoo pauses a moment later, and he releases the hand on Jihoon’s hip, and instead snakes it through his hair, and pulls the boy’s head back, bending his neck at a painful angle so he can look Jihoon in the eye.

“What did I say, baby?” he begins, his voice low.

Jihoon gulps, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “You said to be still, daddy.”

“Exactly,” Seongwoo replies, and the lines on his face harden, “and have you been obeying daddy, Jihoonie?”

Jihoon’s gaze flits down, and Seongwoo sees his lashes veiling the slight dampening of his eyes. “No, daddy,” he murmurs, his voice soft, airy, and almost a whimper.

And without a warning, Seongwoo begins to move the fingers inside of Jihoon again, this time focusing on stretching the boy, one of his hands still holding back Jihoon’s head by his hair. Jihoon chokes at the sudden sensation, his body shaking violently, and saliva bubbles from his lips, as he’s unable to swallow properly with the angle his neck is bent at. Seongwoo keeps Jihoon in that position, continuing to spread and pull with his fingers. Jihoon’s eyes are now wide, tears beginning to form, saliva dripping down his chin, and Seongwoo inwardly smirks at how vulnerable his baby looks in his current position.

Seongwoo pulls his fingers out and releases his hold from Jihoon’s hair. “Up,” he commands, and Jihoon immediately slides off of his lap, “turn around and put your hands on the desk.” He smiles at seeing the red marks on the back of Jihoon’s neck from the way his head had been folded back.

Seongwoo curls his fingers around Jihoon’s collar, slipping beneath the folds of the fabric and reaching for the knot of the tie, pulling the red silk with two fingers before undoing it. “You’ve been a bad boy, baby,” he states, his voice steely.

“Yes, daddy, I’ve been a bad boy,” Jihoon murmurs, his head hung slightly forward, “what is daddy going to do to me?”

“Just wait, Jihoonie,” Seongwoo whispers, leaning forward with his lips next to Jihoon’s ear. Without a single word, he grabs at Jihoon’s wrists, bending the boy’s forearms behind his back. In a few swift movements, he loops Jihoon’s tie around his wrists, tying the red silk into a bow, easily unraveled if needed, pulling the cloth taut against Jihoon’s skin. “You can’t touch yourself, baby,” Seongwoo says, “as your punishment.”

“Daddy--” Jihoon begins, turning his head to look up at Seongwoo and shifting his arms, but Seongwoo forcefully turns Jihoon’s head back with a palm and stills the movements of his arms with his other hand.

“Your punishment, baby,” he growls, and he sees the lines on the back of Jihoon’s neck move as he swallows. He snakes a hand up the back of Jihoon’s thigh, feeling the goosebumps rise from his touch, all the way up until he’s lifting up Jihoon’s skirt. The white lace of Jihoon’s panties are folded into his ass crack, and Seongwoo slides a finger underneath, pulling the cloth aside, gentle touching his fingerpad on Jihoon’s rim. He watches that ring of muscle flex from his touch, clenching and unclenching, as if trying to find Seongwoo’s finger and suck it in.

Jihoon whimpers as Seongwoo touches his rim again. “Look at you, baby,” Seongwoo coos, “your pretty little hole is so desperate for daddy’s cock, isn’t it?”

“Yes, daddy--” Jihoon responds, “Jihoon wants your cock badly, daddy--”

Seongwoo’s hit with a surge of lust in his gut at the sound of Jihoon’s voice. The boy arches his back, trying to rut up against Seongwoo’s erection, but Seongwoo stills his movements with a palm on his back.

“ _Please_ \--” Jihoon begins, and Seongwoo leans forward and whispers in his ear, “Be patient, baby.”

Seongwoo unbuttons and unzips his pants, the zipper teeth making scratching noises that mingle with the sound of Jihoon’s labored breathing. Excitement flares through Jihoon at the noise, and his dick throbs at the anticipation -- it’s almost painful, having been untouched the entire time, still wrapped in the white lace of his panties, straining against the fabric.

Seongwoo pulls down his pants and his boxers, spitting in his hands before running his palms over his cock several times. His breath catches in his throat at the first stimulation his dick has had the whole time, and he closes his eyes for a moment as the warm pleasure courses through his body. But when he opens his eyes, he’s met again with the image of Jihoon’s back facing him, the boy bent forward slightly so that the bottom half of his ass cheeks are peeking through his skirt, showcasing the beginning of white lace that leads down to white elastic and silk and mesh that wraps around his pretty legs -- Seongwoo nearly comes when he takes it all in.

He reaches out a hand, pulling Jihoon’s panties to the side and pressing the head of his cock to Jihoon’s entrance.

“Oh, yes, daddy, please,” Jihoon whines, his rim flexing from the contact, and even though Seongwoo can’t see his face, Jihoon has probably shed a tear or two from his desperation, judging by the trembles in his voice and breathing. He arches his back impossibly deep.

Seongwoo sinks in slowly, pressing himself in until he’s seated at the hilt. He lets out a low groan, Jihoon’s insides clenching around his cock, trying to suck him in more, and the boy is so tight and hot around him, he feels his self-control draining as he tries to resist the urge to immediately pull out and slam back in.

Jihoon moans too, a “ _Yes_ , daddy,” slipping out of his lips.

Seongwoo places his hands on Jihoon’s hips, pulling out smoothly so that only the head of his cock remains inside Jihoon before pushing back in with full force.

Jihoon chokes at the movement, his head falling forward, lewd moans escaping from his lips as Seongwoo begins to build a steady pace, his fingernails digging into Jihoon’s skin. With each thrust, Jihoon lets out a cry, his back and shoulders shaking. Without the use of his arms, his torso falls against the wood of the desk, and he tries to push back on Seongwoo’s cock in time with his thrusts.

Seongwoo looks down at himself, watching Jihoon’s rim stretch around the girth of his dick, pulling him in easily with each movement of his hips. One of his palms moves to push the fabric of Jihoon’s skirt up so he can get a better view -- Jihoon’s panties and stockings are still on, and Seongwoo thinks that from this angle, with Jihoon’s trembling thighs wrapped in white mesh and ribbon and the lace of his underwear pushed to the side, Seongwoo's cock moving in and out of his entrance looks absolutely, deliciously, _lewd_.

But even though the view from behind is spectacular, Seongwoo isn’t entirely satisfied. Jihoon’s face is pressed down into the wood of his desk, his voice muffled, and so Seongwoo leans forward and snakes a hand through his boyfriend’s hair, yanking his body up with one swift movement.

Jihoon promptly chokes, his head once again being bent at a painful angle with Seongwoo pulling on his hair, his grip so harsh that Jihoon feels the pain on his head; but to him, that pain just adds to the pleasure pooling in him.

Seongwoo smirks as he hears the struggling sounds Jihoon makes. Finally satisfied, he pulls out once more and slams back into Jihoon with as much force as his hips can possibly muster, and Jihoon lets out the most beautiful broken cry he’s heard the whole evening.

“D-Daddy, p-pl--” Jihoon wails, his voice splitting, as Seongwoo rams directly into his prostate. “There--” He can hardly speak, his voice thin and pinched, cracking with his words and from the tears that are pooling in the corner of his eyes, and Seongwoo thinks they’re some of the prettiest noises he’s ever heard.

“Look at you, baby, taking my cock in so nicely,” Seongwoo praises, and he crawls the fingers in Jihoon’s hair forward more before gripping the strands right at the top of the boy’s head and yanking his head back even farther. He shifts his position slightly, aiming for Jihoon’s sweet spot with every thrust, hitting it with experienced and powerful accuracy.

“Y-Yes, daddy, Jihoon loves daddy’s c-cock--” Jihoon stutters, his voice trembling as much as his legs. Each time Seongwoo’s dick hits his prostate, stars are sent flying through his vision, and he can hardly keep clear of any of his senses beside the feeling of Seongwoo’s thick length pushing in and out of him. A broken combination of the words “daddy” and “please” slip out of his lips continuously, along with garbled noises and dribbles of saliva.

With every continuous thrust, Jihoon’s back and shoulders quiver more and more violently, his legs feeling as if they are about to give way under him. Soon, only Seongwoo’s grip in his hair and his cock in him are the only things keeping him upright. “Daddy, Jihoon is c--” he begins, but Seongwoo interrupts him by whispering in his ear.

“My lovely baby, you’ve taken daddy’s cock so well,” he coos, and Jihoon whimpers at his praise.

“Thank you, daddy, Ji--” At the next particular thrust of Seongwoo’s cock against his prostate, Jihoon lets out a sharp cry, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen pulse. He squeezes his eyes shut, his mouth open and panting up at the ceiling for air. The coil in his stomach grows tighter and tighter with all the pleasure pooling in him.

“Let daddy see you come,” Seongwoo whispers, and at his daddy’s command, Jihoon keens as he comes at the next thrusts, ropes of white spurting from his cock.

As Jihoon rides out on his high, his insides clench painfully and pleasingly around Seongwoo’s dick, still sucking him in desperately. The sensation is so intense that just when Jihoon’s shoulders have begun to relax, his dick softening, Seongwoo reaches his climax, continuing to thrust into Jihoon several times before he comes.

With the warm sensation of Seongwoo’s come filling him up, Jihoon makes a garbled noise, meant to be a moan, but his throat is still choked up from the remnants of his high and Seongwoo’s iron grip in his hair.

But a few seconds later, Seongwoo releases his grip, and Jihoon’s head falls, his neck cracking slightly as it does so. Seongwoo pulls out, moving his hands to rest on Jihoon’s waist, just to make sure the boy doesn’t accidentally fall and injure himself. Once they’ve both caught their breaths, Seongwoo releases his hands and tugs the knot from the tie around Jihoon’s wrists before he pulls up his own pants.

Jihoon immediately rubs his wrists, and when he turns around, Seongwoo sees red marks on his skin.

“Oh, Jihoon--” he begins, but Jihoon interrupts him with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he replies, “although my neck is a little sore.” He reaches a hand up and rubs the back of his neck.

A slow smile appears on Seongwoo’s face. “Want me to kiss it better?” he asks, entirely serious.

Jihoon contemplates his offer for a moment, not sure if Seongwoo is joking or not and if he isn’t, if Jihoon himself is going to be up for a round two; but the next second, he figures, _Why not?_ Maybe he won't be able to walk for the next few days, but Daehwi can go and pick out his wedding cake by himself. Whatever, Jihoon doesn't even know why Daehwi can't just take Jinyoung in the first place, but apparently he has some stupid surprise for his fiancé, and Jihoon doesn't want to know. “Sure,” he says.

Seongwoo’s grin grows wider. He takes a couple steps back, sinking into his chair. “Come sit on daddy’s lap,” he orders, motioning to Jihoon with his hand, and Jihoon eagerly climbs onto his thighs. His legs still feel wobbly, his knees a little jelly-like, but Seongwoo helps him make himself comfortable in his lap.

“By the way,” Seongwoo begins, as he places his hands on Jihoon’s hips, “will you wear this outfit again?”

“If you want me to, sure,” Jihoon replies, as Seongwoo latches his lips onto his skin.

“Not just on Halloween, right?” Seongwoo asks, his voice slightly muffled.

Jihoon giggles. “Whenever you want, _daddy_ ,” he says, cheekily, and he feels Seongwoo’s palm snaking up his abdomen to play with a nipple.

* * *

_fin._


End file.
